


A delight

by ToxicPineapple



Series: Domestic Married Amasai Oneshots [2]
Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Forehead Kisses, M/M, Married Couple, Sickfic, They are That Couple y'all, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:54:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23509489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToxicPineapple/pseuds/ToxicPineapple
Summary: Rantaro turns around, drying his hands on his apron, as Shuichi leans against the entryway to the kitchen. His eyebrows quirk, eyes turning into little squinty crescent moons as he looks at Shuichi. “You should be in bed, mister,” he remarks, placing his hands on his hips in what Shuichi thinks is a very endearing gesture. Rantaro is like a mother hen. The trait likely stems from the fact that he grew up with twelve younger sisters. Usually Shuichi feels patronised under the weight of that stern gaze, but right now he just feels warm.“I should be at work, actually,” Shuichi corrects.---After walking home for an hour in the rain, Shuichi catches a cold. (Go figure.)
Relationships: Amami Rantaro/Saihara Shuichi
Series: Domestic Married Amasai Oneshots [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1691560
Comments: 6
Kudos: 97





	A delight

When Shuichi cracks his eyes open, he becomes immediately aware of a splitting pain in his temple. The light streaming through the drapes in his and Rantaro’s room is not helping even slightly. He lifts his hands to press them against his forehead, coughing into his arm and rolling over onto his side.  _ Ugh.  _ The blankets are too hot but he feels shaky and cold, somehow. And even the act of lifting his arms up to protect him from the awful sun makes him feel weak. The mattress next to him is warm but empty, so Rantaro is probably already awake. And preparing breakfast, too. What day is it? Shuichi rifles through his scattered thoughts, trying to figure it out. Tuesday, maybe?

He manages to talk himself into rolling back over, away from his husband’s lingering warmth and towards his nightstand, where he gropes around with his eyes closed for his cell phone. When he finds it and turns it on, wincing at the light, he sees that it  _ is  _ in fact Tuesday, and also, it’s eleven. Way past time for him to be at the office.

Shuichi shoots upright, a bolt of panic going through him, but has to stop when stars dance before his vision. It’s not a hangover; if he listens closely he can hear Rantaro bustling around in the kitchen and that’s just fine. The light hurts but more as a headache sort of deal. No, Shuichi’s sick. Like, he has the cold. He can hardly breathe through his nose and his throat is achy and sore. That’s not even getting started on the rest of him. But who on earth takes a sick day on a Tuesday? He swings his legs off the side of the bed. Come to think of it, why isn’t  _ Rantaro  _ at work? Rantaro has Fridays and Saturdays off. He has appointments on Tuesdays. Like, appointments plural.

With that thought at the front of his mind, Shuichi grabs the comforter from the bed and wraps it around himself, shivering despite the fact that their room is always way too hot, and shuffles out the bedroom door. It was already hanging ajar, anyway. He can smell soup cooking in the kitchen, probably some kind of seafood thing because Rantaro knows of his preference, and it makes him smile without thinking to hear his husband’s baritone voice humming as he works. He insists that he’s not a very good singer but his voice has the consistency of honey. It sounds excellent paired with the guitar.

Rantaro turns around, drying his hands on his apron, as Shuichi leans against the entryway to the kitchen. His eyebrows quirk, eyes turning into little squinty crescent moons as he looks at Shuichi. “You should be in bed, mister,” he remarks, placing his hands on his hips in what Shuichi thinks is a very endearing gesture. Rantaro is like a mother hen. The trait likely stems from the fact that he grew up with twelve younger sisters. Usually Shuichi feels patronised under the weight of that stern gaze, but right now he just feels warm.

“I should be at work, actually,” Shuichi corrects. Talking sort of hurts his throat, and when he opens his mouth to speak again, to say that Rantaro should be too, he cuts himself off with an ugly sounding cough, bending over to muffle the sound with the crook of his arm and using the doorframe to prop him up. He composes himself after a moment, swallowing down bitter-tasting phlegm, and when he straightens up, Rantaro is eying him in concern.

When they’re both sure that Shuichi isn’t going to cough again, Rantaro says, “I took the day off. You were delirious this morning, and you have a fever. Probably from that rain storm you got caught in. It still hasn’t let up, y’know,” Rantaro gestures at the window, where raindrops are continuing to fall against the glass. Shuichi had forgotten about the rain last night, but he shivers with the memory of the cold water seeping into his skin. Awful. “Akifumi understood. Neither of us were too keen on you going back out in the rain when you’re already sick.”

“But you have patients,” Shuichi mumbles. His head hurts too much for him to put up too much of a fight. Rantaro walks over to him, lifting a hand to cradle the side of his face, and usually Rantaro is so warm but right now his fingers are pleasantly cool against Shuichi’s burning-hot skin. He leans into the touch without really thinking about it, grumbling something indignant but incoherent to the both of them when he hears his husband chuckling. “Shut up, I mean it, I can take care of myself, you shouldn’t be missing work to tend to me.”

“I only had one appointment scheduled for today,” Rantaro replies gently. “And she understood when I said that you’re sick. She also sends get-well wishes, so now I really can’t let you get worse, or else one of my kiddos is going to be mad at me.” The corner of Shuichi’s mouth twitches. It is endlessly endearing that Rantaro refers to his patients as his kiddos. They’re not supposed to be  _ close  _ per se but Rantaro has a soft heart and a tendency to form deep personal relationships with no matter who he engages with. “Back to bed with you. I’m going to do the cute husband thing where I feed you soup and then sit with you all day while you’re boring because you’re asleep and you’re going to rest and not stress about work and it’s going to be fantastic.”

“Ah, I  _ do  _ have cases to work on,” Shuichi opens his eyes wider, remembering. “There’s been an infidelity case sitting on my desk for the past couple days, I should really--”

“None of that, I literally  _ just  _ said you’re not going to stress out about work,” Rantaro tuts, and before Shuichi can protest further, he reaches out and scoops him up, blanket and all, so that he’s essentially burritoed in his husband’s arms. He wants to complain, but the reality is that he had been on the verge of collapse before Rantaro picked him up, and the embrace is… insanely comforting. Rantaro smells like salty broth and lavender air freshener, and when Shuichi rests his head against his chest, he can hear his heartbeat, a calm and steady  _ thump thump thump  _ beneath his apron and his tank-top.

“You’re the worst, caring about me and stuff,” Shuichi rambles, closing his eyes. “Don’t laugh,” he adds sharply, when Rantaro chuckles. “I’m mad at you.”

“Really?” Rantaro’s voice is soft. “I’m sorry.”

“No, shut up, you were supposed to keep laughing,” Shuichi sighs. “Sorry. I’m kinda bad at bantering right now.”

“Your work is important to you and I’m keeping you away from it,” Rantaro says as he deposits Shuichi back into their bed, pressing a kiss to his forehead. His lips are smooth and soft and cool, another welcome touch against his clammy skin. Rantaro’s touches, casual and frequent as they are, are so lovely, Shuichi feels like he’s going to burst. “But you do need to rest. Wouldn’t want to spread this around, y’know?”

“You’re gonna catch it from me,” Shuichi pouts. “So I don’t know why you’re saying that.”

“It would be an honour to get a sickness from the man I love.”

“That’s so  _ weird,  _ Rantaro,” Shuichi can’t help laughing, though, and the full grin that spreads across Rantaro’s face makes him feel soft and fluttery inside in a way that he hasn’t in years. Rantaro’s eyes are brilliant, and in the shadowy lighting of their room they are a deep shade of green, swirling with playfulness and affection. Maybe Shuichi should get sick more often. “Thank you, though,” he adds, thinking of it. “For staying home to take care of me.”

“Of course.” Rantaro kisses him on the forehead again, and then on the nose, smoothing back his hair with his hands and tucking him back underneath the blankets. “Maybe I don’t necessarily want to get your illness, but it is a delight for me. Taking care of you, that is.”

“You’re so sappy,” Shuichi complains. “Go read some Stephanie Meyer and get out.”

“Twilight, Shu? Cold.” Rantaro chuckles, straightening up again. “I’ll be back in about ten minutes with your soup. Sit tight until then, okay?”

“Okay,” Shuichi pauses. “I love you. Thank you.”

“I love you too,” Rantaro winks at him as he slips out the door, a lovely smile adorning lovely features. “With my everything.”

What a sap. Shuichi is bursting with warmth for reasons completely unrelated to his cold.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm gonna add it to a series in a second just u wait but for now take this take it take it ta
> 
> asdkfj you can pry this au from my cold dead hands god i love these dudes
> 
> these boys. these men.
> 
> ksdjmmmmmmm they're in LOVE


End file.
